I Will Not Break
by Torrin-El
Summary: It's the 1900s. Steve Rogers, Captain of the Howling Commandos, is fighting the war against Hydra with the aid of Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Bruce Banner, and Clint Barton. One battle in particular leads them to something much bigger than Hydra alone. There's a new player in town. Two to be exact they've introduced a whole new team. The Red Room. (I'm shit for summaries)


Unbreakable

It was the 1940's, it wasn't roaring but it also wasn't in depression. Some slightly major events occurred like, the Great Battle of Britain, Bugs Bunny made his official debut, FDR elected to an unprecedented third term as the U.S President, the Katlyn Forest Massacre, dearly beloved Anne Frank goes into hiding, the tasty and sweet chocolatey M&M's was created, the Jeep brand was contrived, but it was also the time the Germans grew awry, under the leadership of Adolf Hitler and his self-righteous beliefs. First they had struck Austria, then Sudetenland, next was Poland, and before anyone knew it Britain and France were declaring war on Germany. It was getting scary, for everyone, especially Europe cause such outbreak influenced many other countries to do such unrestrained acts, like Japan invading China. Things were getting out of hand. America didn't bother at first, only offering little help here and there but when the Third Reich, when Germany began to transform into a fascist totalitarian state that began to control every aspect of life, they started to prepare for war.

And Steven Grant Rogers, son of Irish immigrants, Sarah and Joseph Rogers, couldn't stand by it. He tried to enlist but due to his frail body he couldn't and wouldn't be accepted. He was diagnosed with early onset anorexia and asthma among other things. Unlike his best friend, James 'Bucky' Barnes Buchanan, Steve wasn't as strong, as tall, and muscular. James was a good man, around six foot, a hundred and fifty two pounds, muscular and face as beautiful as any angel. He was good-hearted and the ladies loved him, always throwing themselves at him with the only attention to bed him. James was one of those rare men, kind but stern, nice but protective, and always looking out. Steve had taken a liking to him when they first met as kids, he was still scrawny and James was still broad and sure. It was a natural connection, something that couldn't be broken. It only proved to grow stronger over the years. James saving Steve from the countless bullies and Steve helping James keep up with his civic duties. It was an odd relationship if you looked at it from another angle but just seeing the two together made up for the expectations.

But he wasn't his only friend. Tony Stark, illustrious billionaire, son of Howard Stark, friend for ten years, had enlisted in the army as well. It was more for publicity than sacrificing himself for the good of his country. His father didn't agree which ended in one furious prodigy leaving his father's mansion and moving in with his best friends, Steve and James. Tony and James got along just fine with each other with Tony's wit and James' brandish charms. Tony and Steve on the other hand didn't get along as well but there was something there, something strong and growing with every word they took to each other. Tony's egotistical, self-minded, evolutionist went against Steve's moral compass but in the end they always balanced each other out. It was a complicated relationship but it was theirs and they were grateful to even have it.

Next on the short list was Thor Odinson, good-hearted world heavy weight champion. When Thor had heard of Steve and James attempting to enlist he jumped at the chance to not only serve his second country, he was an immigrant from Ireland that was welcomed gladly by the U.S after they saw that he would fight. Well, that's what he told everyone that came in his path. He was truly a god from another world, protecting the world from any threats, and it was Hitler and Nazi Germany on this occasion. And gaining some friends in the process was welcomed by him. Thor was a great guy, to everyone, especially the ladies who tried to throw themselves at him and the men that came to claim their ladies back. He was a good natured guy, always at ease, barely taking anything serious when it didn't come time. And he also lived with Steve, James, and Tony. He was rich on money but he didn't show it. After every fight he won or loss he barely got a penny for his efforts but Asguardian money went far in the US economy. Thor didn't care anyway, he just wanted to stay in the country.

Along with Tony and Thor came Bruce, shy but nice guy. He was a scientist who worked for Stark Industries for a short amount time before being transferred to an off campus lab where his skills were used for nothing but bottling test tubes. The U.S Army was in need of his skills and soon enough he transferred there. And that's where he met the gang. They immediately hit it off but Stark and Bruce talked a lot more about their science bros stuff. Steve, Thor, and James stayed away from that and just kept with the sports. Bruce was a mysterious character, always keeping to himself, and shying away from the public conversations only to criticize them about it when they got back home. It was nice. It was good.

So after almost all of them had enlisted Steve wanted to join. James hadn't necessarily encouraged Steve to try to enlist but he wanted to make sure he knew all his options before he did. Of course, Steve did so without James' wise words. He was turned down but he had caught the attention of U.S Army General Chester Phillips and a scientist named Dr. Josef Reinstein 'Erskine' who was eager to enlist him into the Super Soldier Project. Of course the General himself wanted to make sure that Steve was material enough to be a Super Soldier so he went through tests, many. And over time he had met another recruit by the name of Clint Barton. He was a rustic, shallow, tough guy at first but Steve and his efforts it got him down to a cool kind of guy. He introduced him to the others and before they knew it they had another brother.

Things were smooth. Training was smooth until Steve met someone one night. A dame, by the name of Margaret Carter. He was told to call her Peggy and to keep his pants zipped up. She was a no-shit taking, shot calling spitfire. Steve was in love. And she also seemed taken by him, even if he wasn't like other guys. She was sweet but firm. Nice but commanding. He was fascinated by her. They had talked almost every evening after training. They had gotten to know one another. She was his first kiss. But that's how far they went. Things were sweet, peaceful in the time of war.

But it came time for a soldier to be put through the Super Soldier process and fortunately Steve was chosen. The process was completely painful but somehow Steve had gotten through it but he was bigger. He had gotten stronger, taller, enhanced. Soon after Dr. Erskine was killed by Heinz Kruger, a Nazi spy. Steve had chased him down with his new abilities only for the spy to swallow a pill, killing himself. Things went on, even though skeptical. Howard Stark, father of a begrudging Tony Stark, had given Steve a shield. A vibranium metal disk. People looked over it but it was as if the thing called to him.

US lines were breaking and after that, everything went to Hell. Troops began to die quicker, faster. It was like the enemy was getting some sort of help. Their weapons grew bigger with every battle, always with a large red Hydra symbol on the side of every tank and every weapon. They had it, Steve's battalion, Clint Barton, Thor Odinson, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, James Falsworth, and Jacques Dernier. _The Howling Commandos._ Clint was the sniper, Thor the tank, and the rest were frontal assault, taking on enemies one by ones and two by twos. They were heroes but they never saw it that way. It was their job, their obligation. And one day, their obligation proved too much.

1940, James Buchanan Barnes was killed in action, attempting to defuse a bomb. His body wasn't found.

The Howling Commandos didn't lose their fight. Just gave them one more thing to fight for. They knew for a fact that Bucky wouldn't want them to stop, he would want them to keep going, to finish what they had started. To end it. So, they killed every fucking Nazi in sight. German forces were moving in. They had to take action. Fight harder. Fight smarter. Fight better. But one particular battle seemed to beat them all. They had taken it. They took _all_ of it. And it wasn't just the Howling Commandos, it was the whole fucking army.

"Frag!"

They ducked behind the dugout as the explosion rang through their ears before rising as quickly.

"Bogies! Ten o'clock! Ten o'clock!" Guns trained to the left, cross hairs aiming and firing. A long with the constant sounds of bullets firing was shouting, some filled with commands and others with blood churning screams of pain. That was the song of war.

Grabbing a soldier by the collar of his jacket, the Captain yanked him back and pointed in front of them," You see that asshole with the AK?!"

He nodded quickly, his unstrapped helmet falling in front of his eyes.

"Smoke that motherfucker!"

Dum Dum Dugan ripped the ring of the grenade, holding it a moment, whispering a silent prayer, before tossing it into enemy lines," Grenade out!"

"There beginnin' to surround us Cap'n!"

"Good! Now we'll be able to shoot in all directions!"

An exchange of shots were fired, bullet for bullet, body for body, blood for blood. War isn't fair. Never was. They weren't outnumbered, quite the opposite, but it seems that they were being surrounded. Captain Steve Rogers, watched the grounds with a perspective eye, head down and behind his shield. They were pooling more troops in, source unknown. Every body that dropped was replaced with another, a live, strong body. Casualties of war. Someone dies? Just send in another man.

"Dugan, take your squadron to the left dugout, hold those bastards down as long as you can. Jones, Morita, take out anybody that tries to flank. See something move? Shoot to kill. Don't have time to spare lives. There's too many." Steve spoke with strength and command. Dugan, Jones, and Morita nodded, kneeling down to their respective teams and motioning to another area of the scattered warfare. The rest stick with him, waiting for orders.

"Rest of you, stay here with me. We are going to hold this dugout like it's our last meal, boys," Steve said, the familiar rat-a-tat-tat of bullets echoing off his shield.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Echoed through the dugout.

Steve turned to the man next to him, who lay light amount of fire on the enemy with a Marksman Pistol.

"How are we doing, _Grease Monkey_?" _Tony Stark._ Steve shouted over the sound of exploding bullets and frags going off. The man looked at him with a wry smile and wild look in his eyes. War crazy. Steve laughed heartedly at his excitement.

"Well, Cap'n, if I analyze this right I would say the enemy is trying to surround us."

"No shit, Private?"

"No shit, Cap'n."

Steve clapped him on his back with a smile, the man was crazy. But crazy is what got you through. It's what helped you survive. The jangle of his dog tags rang in his sharp ears as he turned to the right, tucking away said ID in his jacket.

" _Anger Management_ , tell me something good," _Bruce Banner._ He shouted, tucking the gun in his thigh holster with ever growing patience. He had been through many battles, patience came easily.

"Well, sir, they're using rubber bullets and blanks to stall us, sir." Banner stated, out of breath, and shooting randomly out into the battle hoping to get a desperate shot. Steve snatched the pistol from him and replaced it with a rifle.

At that, they all paused and ducked behind the dugout. " _Viking_ , lay some suppressing fire while we get our shit together. _Hawkeye_ , keep an eye out from that tree. Alright?" _Thor Odinson and Clint Barton._

Both soldiers responded with a," Sir, yes, sir."

Captain Rogers and Private Stark turn towards Banner, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. Banner was too focused on aiming his rifle that he didn't notice the other soldiers eyeing him. Steve sighed and leaned back against the dugout, crushing of leaves evident as he adjusted his position. Stark placed his pistol in his holster before wiping the sweat from his brow.

". . .So, you're telling me these Hydra Soldiers aren't trying to kill us?"

Banner spared the soldiers a glance before turning back to his scope," Well, I can't tell you that, sir. All I can tell you is that the bullets they are shooting aren't lethal."

The Captain paused for a moment, hands resting on the shield posted up on his lap," Hold ya' fire!"

The sound of led firing ceased. The men ducked behind the dugout and any other source of cover. " _Hawkeye_ , keep your head down and your eyes up. And if you see something you better unload that sniper of yours."

"You got it, Cap." The sound of a clip being reloaded sounded in his ears.

"Say, _Anger Management_ , if you were the enemy, and let's just say you firing rubber bullets and blanks to. . . maybe scare or intimidate the enemy into an actual battle what reason would you give for doing so?" Steve asks, pure curiosity behind his eyes. The other soldiers paused as well, some peaking over the dugout, and others reloading. Bruce sighed, pulled his rifle back and propped it up against the dugout wall. Stark, the grease monkey, laughed at the man's frustration.

"I don't know exactly. . .Intimidation more likely or," He thought for a second, lips pressed tightly together in concentration,". . .Maybe I'd be planning to capture you instead of killing you."

"That's it, boys! I want a 360 degree perimeter on our cover!"

Clint packed up his sniper and Thor picked up the heavy machine gun before stealthily making their way towards the _pos_ , keeping their head down but eyes up.

Things were quiet, only the faint sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs sounded throughout the forest. Steve kept his shield up but his eyes perceptive. The other men focused on polishing their weapons, reloading, checking cartridges and checking mags.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, came a bunch of German civilians, running through the trees and finding the center of their 360 defense line. The soldiers immediately turned around, aiming their rifles and short-ranged weapons onto the people. They stopped running and screamed out in German, crying and pleading for them not to kill them.

"Civvies! Civvies! Lower your weapons!" Steve tilted Thor's gun down with the tip of his finger. The soldiers warily lowered their weapons, still cautious of their surroundings and their visitors. Steve turned to the civilians, hand cocked on his shield. " _Was machst du?"_

A man, in the front, seemingly leading the group responded," _Soldaten, Bombardierung unserer Stadt. Wir brauchen Schutz._

Steve narrowed his eyes slightly before whispering to his team," They say Nazi soldiers bombed their city. They want our protection."

"They just ran into a full-fledged battle. I think they had more protection back there than they did here," Tony stated, hand tight on the handle of a rifle.

" _Bitte,"_ The man said.

Steve sighed, rubbing the cold sweat from his brow,". . . He said please."

Clint groaned and turned away," Fuck it."

"New order you head-huggers. We can't take them anywhere. . .So, five men storm out, and the others stretch across the 360 defense line. _Dum Dum, Viking, Grease Monkey, Hawkeye_ , and Morita, keep close eyes on the civvies. Keep 'em safe."

The rest turned to their positions, guns trained and attention at the ready for any sort of movement. Everything was quiet at the moment. The Germans weren't making any sounds, nothing that they could hear. Meanwhile, Dugan, Thor, Tony, Clint, and Morita kept a safe eye on the civilians, who were which twitching every now and then. Thor eyed them skeptically, chewing on some tough meat, and moving his leg back and forth in excitement. There was something odd about them. Strange. Not usual for a civilian. Thor elbowed Clint's shoulder, knocking the toothpick out of his mouth in the process. Agitated, Clint turned towards the man, before noticing Thor motioning towards the civilians. Clint shrugged his shoulders in frustration and turned back around. Thor sighed and shook his head. Not bothering to look at the civilians any longer until he saw light reflect off something in the lead man's back pocket. His eyes widened at the sight. Slowly, Thor snatched the spare toothpick in Clint's mouth, gaining his attention and anger.

"What the f-?" Clint then turned towards the civilians as well, eye catching what Thor's eyes caught.

These weren't civilians. They were Nazi soldiers in disguise.

And they knew they were onto them. Shooting up from their position, they revealed a pulled frag in each of their hands.

"Holy sh-,"They all ducked out of the dugout, revealing themselves to the enemy surrounding them. The dugout was a no-go. Failed. But they didn't look back, just hurriedly jumped out and ran. Ran until their bodies were covered in some sort of cover or defense. The enemy shot at them, unyielding in their rubber bullets. Some of the men were fast, fast enough to find some cover, and others weren't so lucky. Some of them had fallen, rubber bullets piercing and whizzing through the air and hitting them in the most sensitive areas. The enemy was unrelenting in their assault, they pushed forward. And when they found a man down they would use the butt of the gun to officially knock them out. Seems they are capturing us, Steve thought, back to a tree. He spotted Barton on the ground, limping. With no such hesitance the Captain leaped from his cover, holding his shield up in defense as he grasped the soldier by the bicep and dragged him towards a cover big enough for the both of them.

"What the fuck are you doing down there, soldier?" Steve grunted, hoisting the man up on his shoulder, giving Clint the shield to protect the both of them.

"It's a beautiful day to die, sir!" Clint laughed, grabbing his pistol and taking out the enemy one by one.

Steve laughed as well, shouting over the sound of gunfire he said," Bullshit, Private! You better keep that gun up and trained. It ain't your time yet."

Clint laughed a loud, grunting when his back hit a stone. Looking over he saw some of the other Howling Commandos. " _Grease Monkey_ , check 'em."

Tony looked him over, eyeing the blood flowing from his forehead," He's good. . .Other than the blood flowing from his head."

"Well, hard-ass, wrap something around it."

"Your hands ain't broken though."

Thor let out a guttural laugh, hand adjusting the cap over his head. "I find your medical aid banter hilarious. We must engage in more some time."

Bruce and Steve shook their head with a smile. Unknowingly looking them over, any severe cuts or broken bones. They had blood and dirt covering their faces, light bruises here and there but nothing serious. Dugan and the others had arrived. They looked the same as the others, bloody faced and dirt covered bastards. The beauty of war. Then he heard a painful shout to his left, he looked over to see Clint clutching his leg like a lifeline, blood squirting out and the knee twisted at an angle. Steve winced, glancing at Bruce who rushed to his aid.

"What the shit happened?" Tony asked, ripping off a piece of cloth from his scarf and tying it around the wound. Bruce snatched Tony's canteen from his pack and began to pour some golden liquid on the wound before it was officially tied. Once done, he took a sip himself before handing it to Clint to take a sip.

"Is Private Clint going to be well?" Thor interjects.

"I don't know. His knee is out of its socket and at an odd an-," Steve set his shield down and like lightning, he snapped the knee back into its socket.

" _ **W**_ hiskey, _**T**_ ango, _ **F**_ oxtrot _?_ " Clint growled, his back arching in pain and his legs kicking up.

Steve smiled politely," You're welcome."

Thor patted him on the back with an amused little chuckle. Clint was a tough son of a bitch. He could handle it. "Enemy is gaining land and cover, picking up the men they knocked down. About 2 to 3 klicks away. Viking and I will keep an eye out. Rest of you sack up."

They nodded and fell into a comfortable silence. Waiting. Patience was a necessary virtue. They would have to move out. They were cornered. No other options other than to call for back-up which wasn't happening any time soon. Radio was busted during the explosion. He felt a slight bit of anger. It was natural. In order to be a soldier you had to have a little anger, a little something to drive you forward. But no, he was mad at himself for taking in those citizens. Nonetheless, not checking them. Looking past the smoke he could see a few bodies lying on the ground, not moving. And he knew for a fact that it was war but this was his fault. His _fucking_ fault. They didn't move fast enough. No, he was off his guard. End of story. Nothing could make up for those lives. Those who he had left for his own benefit to breathe the air of life. And he would be lying if he didn't say he was greedy.

He let his head fall on the side of the gun, eyes closing briefly to say a short prayer, finger relaxing on the trigger. The song of war, no one said it was pleasant.

Then, he pulled a picture out of his pocket, and his eyes roamed over it, taking it all in. He missed her. Like a soldier misses his weapon, like a soldier missing his team. Now that Bucky was gone, she was all he had left.

He jumped a little when he felt a foot nudge his own. Turning around he kept his hand on the gun. They would have to go back out. Some would make it. The others would be another story. By the look on Clint's face, he knew the same.

"Hey, hard-ass, if you wouldn't mind…" Clint prodded, gaining Steve's wary attention. He began to shake his head with a knowing smile, the boys laughing and snickering at him like it was the funniest thing in the damn world. It wasn't amusement. It was hope. "Come on, Cap'n give it to us!"

Steve sighed, this was their story, their promise, their fire, their fuel, their creed, their prayer, _" Stay low, go fast_. . ."

The stomping of boots was faint in the distance.

" _Kill first, die last. . ."_

Enemy soldiers began to take position.

" _One shot, one kill. . . "_

Snipers and long ranged weapon's crosshairs began to lineup with their targets.

" _No luck, all skill."_

Silence stood and they, still. The enemy had their guns trained on the cave they lie in, no sight of them but the familiar scent of America. No movement was spotted from each side. The birds stood still, the wind ceased, the animals watched, and for a minute the world stopped moving and time ceased.

Then the click of a safety went off.

"Let's raise Hell, boys."

They launched over their cover, guns firing like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Grenades and frags were thrown every which way. And feet hauled ass. The enemy didn't see it coming. With an anger and drive they mowed down the enemy soldiers, ran through them, then repeat. Thor, who carried Clint on his back, shot to kill, using the heavy machine gun. Bruce and Tony stuck close, quickly and precisely finding their crosshairs before firing. Dum Dum Dugan was having a blast, throwing every explosive towards the trenches. Morita pushed through with everything he had, not lowering his head once and never lowering his gun. Jones held the back, shooting anybody that tried to flank. Dernier stuck with him, holding his back while he held his. Falsworth laid back and sniped any bitch within a five foot radius of his brothers. Steve led them through, so the first thing they saw before they died was the shield. It actually seemed like they were winning.

Just for a bit.

The men were disappearing. One by one, they were knocked down. Steve would catch a glance at someone then, as he blinked, they disappeared. There was another player in this game. And they didn't seem to be playing fair.

"Hold!" Steve commanded, stepping quickly behind a tree. His soldiers paused and took cover, all before looking at him incredulously. Looking them each in the eye with a hard look he shook his head. They trusted him with their lives to guide them to safety, to guide them as best as possible to victory, to freedom and liberation. This was him, doing that.

"Shit," He cursed, Dugan was gone. He tried so badly to take notice of what was out of place. There was someone else here, with them. Taking out his men. And they were good. The other soldiers were starting to take notice. After Dugan, it was Jones. Next it was Falsworth. Then Morita. Next Dernier. Without a thought and just pure intuition, Steve stepped out of his hiding spot and tried to gain the new player's attention. He had hopes that he could take them.

"What the shit are you doing, Cap'n?" Tony spat at him. Steve didn't waver from his mission, shield up, and fist clutched. He told Stark to shut it and continued to survey the area, easily deflecting the rubber bullets and barely flinching when he saw the flash of a blank. Then, he found himself sitting on grass. Next a punch landed on his face, not hurting him in the slightest but surely wounding the enemy's hand. Suddenly, as if unexpected, he heard a shriek of pain. His eyes narrowed in search of the source before landing on Tony and Bruce, stuck under a tree, which he assumed was weakened by the grenades and gun fire. He failed to take in the fact that both the _Grease Monkey_ and _Anger Management_ were shaking their heads violently, trying to stop him from running over there.

" _Viking,_ covering fire!"

The soldier did as told, Clint lying on the ground with a pistol firing non-stop. Steve made his way towards Bruce and Tony, the two who were eyeing him with wide eyes. He shook his head for an explanation but just as his hand found the base of the tree someone roadhouse kicked him in the head, wavering his senses with slight dizziness. And the enemy took advantage, tackling him to the ground with speed and well-balanced strength. He turned to face his attacker. Then, their eyes met.

Damn, she was beautiful.

"Nice to finally meet you, Captain Rogers," She said with an impassive expression. Her voice was husky and smooth. He found himself loving it. She had dark red curls, green eyes, and a Walther PPK Semi-Automatic. He smiled, leaning into the tip of the barrel which was pointed directly to the center of his forehead. This was him, looking Death in the face with a smile. She expected him to give up with a pistol pointed to his head? He's been in worse case scenarios.

"Can't say the feeling is mutual," He grunted, picking up his shield fast enough to block the bullet. And when said bullet bounced off like a pebble said shield pushed her off him and a couple feet away. She skidded along the dirt, gaining herself before whipping her hair out of her face and looking back up at him.

She was pissed.

With his enhanced strength, he picked up the tree with one hand, lodging his shield in it to hold it up so both men could move out. But he never took his eyes off her. Her gaze was unrelenting and he found himself surrendering. "Get with your remaining brothers, focus on the hostiles. Hold the cover."

They nodded, trusting the Captain's order.

He attacked first, shield lodged on his back, and fist up. She was fast and smooth, effortlessly challenging. He loved a challenge. They fought hard, their moves fast, quick, and precise, continuously trying to outmatch each other. Neither of them focused on the gunshots or the sounds of grenades going off, both entranced by the dance they were sharing. Her punches weren't pulled and every time he landed a hit on her she would shake it off like he pinched her. He tried to block most of her hits with his shield but as he pulled up the _Vibranium_ plate she hit the curve of his arm and slid the shield off his arm. He looked back to her, shock writing itself on his face, holding his arms out in question. He felt naked, stripped down. She had taken his shield, his extension, his sixth sense, his weapon of liberation. And that's when the anger came rolling in like a storm. The fight dragged on, but he moved faster, harder, pushing constantly for more. Alas, she taunted him, with his own weapon, swinging it skillfully like she had made it her own. He fought well and hard but she was better. With some effort she backed away from him and threw the shield directly at him. He slid back slightly as he caught it, distracting him for a good amount of time for her to wrap her thighs around his neck before squeezing violently. He dropped his shield and gripped her thigh, trying to gain a little access to some oxygen. Especially when his eyes began to roll to the back of his head. She could've easily killed him with a twist of her hips but no, she just slid off of him, letting his body fall to the ground, his abdomen folding in on itself to comfort his starving lungs. She let him catch his air before approaching him. He saw her shadow move closer and instinctively reached for his shield. She kicked it to the side. It was quiet. No more firing. No more explosions. Silence. Peace?

No, peace was never this quiet.

And then he felt a hand grab him by the hair, yanking his head back to reveal the smooth skin of his neck. With defiance, he looked up to her as she bent down to his level, her hair fanning out around him in a red glow. Their breaths mingled, talking a language that they couldn't translate. He inhaled deeply when the pressure in his hair grew and her eyes flicked towards his own. Green and blue fusing, like the sky decided to fall just to kiss the Earth in a blaze of fire.

Then, two needles plunged into his neck, sending him into a black abyss.

 **. . . . .**

He woke to the insistent bumping of his shoulder. His drowsiness was overwhelmed by the feel of his body jolting to a sense of high alert. He was cuffed down, his wrist barely and inch apart. Same went for his feet, both subdued appendages connected by a single chain. And gracing his mouth was a restriction mask. Attached to the metal suppressing him was some sort of post, holding him in one position, suspended in the air. Then something came to his mind. He looked around hastily, trying to gather his surroundings, minding the rough scratch of the mask on his face. There, to his left and to his right, where his men, all standing with cuffs cuffing their wrist and feet as well.

" _Hier sind Sie. . .,_ " Steve recognized that voice and his gaze shot up. The red faced bastard, the leader of Hydra himself. Johann Schmidt. He was talking to two women, both with masks covering the tips of their noses to base of their neck. One had red hair and the other was a dirty blonde. He couldn't seem to recognize either of them but the red head was a bit familiar. A new player in the game indeed. This was a new development.

" _Wie viel wollen Sie für sie?"_ The blonde one asked.

" _Der Preis, den du versprochen."_

The blonde nodded towards the red head who produced a case. It looked very secure, thumb print, eye-scanner, number code, and voice recognition. This was high-tech stuff, most certainly not cheap. He wondered what they were getting out of this.

" _Ein Deal ist ein deal,"_ Schmidt sighed and held out a hand for the woman to shake. She didn't spare it a glance before approaching the squadron of men. Every soldier eyed her as she scanned every single one of them. She looked dismissive, like she didn't care as long as she got whatever she needed to get done, done. She made a small amount of contact with every soldier and with every touch, his fist clutched harder. She was judging them, regarding them as an object and placing a price, an evaluability and longevity on each one. She had looked Clint up and down, eyeing the leg, hand gliding along his bicep. Bruce, she didn't do the same too, her gaze just raking over the features of his face before swiftly taking his glasses off. He didn't protest though, his eyes only fading to a light green. Next was Tony, who dared to stare her directly in the eye. Brave, stupid, Tony danced along those lines. She had let a finger glide along his goatee, he flinched at her touch. She looked like she smiled underneath that scarf. Thor on the other hand stood her up and stared her down, a look of disgust clouding his features. He must've been a prize to her or whatever her cause was. She twisted his long hair in her fingers. Finally, it was him. She looked up at him, curiosity clouding her eyes. She reached up to touch him but Schmidt intercepted.

"No!" He shouted sternly in a thick German accent but nonetheless speaking English," He's not for sale."

 _Sale_. Steve's gaze went from confusion to anger. The motherfucking bastard was selling them, selling them to these women. Then it all made sense. Why the soldiers from earlier hadn't used real bullets and overthrew grenades. The civvies in the dugout must've been unknowing Nazi's when they were fighting Hydra. It all made sense.

Hydra was selling them.

"Not for sale? And why, he, who you have made such an extent to subdue, is not for sale?" The blonde thankfully turned to English as well, marching towards Schmidt with a powerful stride. She clearly had no room for bullshit.

Before Schmidt could say something, the red head answered, eyes finding Steve's," Cause…He's the American Super Soldier."

The blonde woman turned back to Steve, eyeing him for a brief minute, eyes running up and down his form. He didn't mind her, his eyes were glued to her companion and she, him. It was like an entrapment, something of a spell. There was an attraction, something to be solved, and neither of them could deny it. She was lax in a skin tight cat suit, that gained most of the men's attention but surprising to her, he wasn't looking at her body but her eyes. They were distantly alluring, a mystery. Her gaze didn't waver and his didn't either.

"We'll take him," She said with her eyes on still on him, and Schmidt began to object before she produced a gun from her holster, aiming it directly at his head. Her face was impassive and her gun didn't deter. Schmidt wasn't scared but he didn't want to die. He had a dream, a dream to destroy America. And when you have a dream like that with as much passion as you have, there's no stopping that. Schmidt sighed before leveling her with a hard look and spat with grit teeth.". . .Fine."

She holstered her gun," The Red Room thanks you for your contribution."

The blonde turned back to Steve, the back of her hand gazing over his mask covered jaw. He tried to flinch away but his face was held in place by all the chains holding him down.

"Load them in the truck."

 **. . . . .**

They watched hopelessly as German soil ran past them in forms of war zones and farm grazing fields. The sun set as they moved, as if it was saying goodbye. He saw it as a sign of their freedom, fading. The sun had given up on them. _Freedom_ had given up on them and he wondered for a moment what they had done wrong. Why had the sun betrayed them? Or better yet, what did the sun _fear_ past the border? He, along with his brethren, were going to find out. He turned his head away, eyes gazing over the other bodies, doing his daily check over his men. They were fine, some glaring menacingly at the two other women that occupied the back of the truck. Some were sitting back, eyes closed, awaiting their fate. And others, others were scared. One man was uttering a prayer, holding onto the cross tightly in his cuffed hands. The blonde one was clearly getting irritated and without hesitance or remorse she pulled a gun from her holster, pointing it directly at his still moving lips. She didn't bat an eye as she leaned forward, her breath ghosting over his lips," Keep talking and the next thing that'll be coming out of your mouth is blood."

Her eyes wandered to his lips but before she could do something else a violent rattle of chains sounded from her left. Steve was yanking on the chains, grunting as he did so, like a wild, caged, animal, catching all of their attention. The blonde turned to him, a curious look in her eyes with a wild smile, tongue running over her pearly white teeth. She shoots up from her seat and makes her way towards him, he's still yanking the chains vigorously, all his muscles flexing viciously to break away from the confinement but alas, he cannot, eliciting a roar of frustration. Her hand finds his jaw, running it through his wild hair. He tried to recoil but the restriction mask, which was tied to the bars surrounding him, held his head in one position.

"You're going to be beautiful," It comes out in a rasps and Steve tries to imagine all the meanings behind those words. Could be anything. And he looked back at the descending sun, wishing he could go with it, to the other side of the world. The blonde looked at the sun as well, shooting it a look of condensation at the win she was gaining before finding her seat. The red head, the one from earlier, was eyeing the transaction with distant eyes, her gaze bouncing from them to his shield. His shield, the weapon of intimidation and liberation. _Freedom._ And as the sun began to lay, it's light bouncing off the blue, white, and red, the light slowly began to fade, so did everything it represented. His head fell at his God given extension, dying before him. It had lost hope in him, he had failed it, failed to see the bigger picture. And his chest heaved heavily with sorrow, as if his extension, his light, his weapon, died, and along with it, a part of him. The red head had seen him looking at it, his eyes growing watery with unshed tears. Her manicured nails ran smoothly over the metal, and she wondered for a bit, what that shield meant to him. And as the tips of her nails traced absentmindedly over the silver plated star, he flinched. His brethren watched his torture and winced along with his pain, empathy for him. The shield was a part of him but it's dead now, along for what it stood for. German forces would advance along the US defense lines and with their higher advances in technology they would no doubt push past them with ease. The Nazi's would triumph and Hydra would get what they wanted all along, the desolation of America.

And it hurt even more when she pulled out a knife from her back pocket, before scraping the paint off the vibranium. It was as if he felt his own skin peeling off and he roared in pain, frustration, and anger. Piece by piece. Little bits of skin by skin. His men held down their head in mourning, in a moment of silence. He screams with every shed of red, white, and blue. Then the other men began to hum, catching the blonde's attention but not dissuading the red head. They began to hum a tune familiar to them, a tune of passing, of death. With the scraping of paint came the scraping of pride, freedom, and everything that made America true, _everything_ that he stood for. And with the last amount of strength God, liberty, and freedom had given him, he tore one arm from its confines. The blonde's head shot up and the red head raised an eyebrow, stopping her earlier ministrations. The two women stared surprisingly at the Super Soldier, their faces showed nothing of being taken off guard but he could see the clear unexpectedness in their eyes, as he glared at them with intentions clear in his. No one, not anyone, had driven to him to such anger that he wanted to kill them. There was a first time for everything he supposed.

And it wasn't just only him, Thor, who had been sitting next to him, broke from his cuffs as well, rising slowly from his seat. They both stared menacingly, and clearly pissed, at the two women, and they stared back, face showing no signs of fear. Steve ripped the cuff from the side of one of the connected poles, holding him from the ground. And he did the same with the confines on his feet. The mask on the other hand was practically glued to his face, so, he left it on.

" _Это собирается быть весело_ ," The blonde one said with a smile and her companion smiled as well, dropping Steve's shield onto the ground. He practically growled in disagreement at the action and she, in response, tilted her head.

" _Америка мальчик это мое_ ," The red head stated before all four advanced on each other. The blonde went towards Thor and the red head pounced on Steve. He launched at her with a fury, moving quicker and faster than he did before. She took notice of this and smirked at the challenge. They moved like water downstream, one way, one path. Her path was he, swinging with no remorse and a little playfulness. His path was her, throwing punches and kicks with an anger. And like a stream, there were rocks here and there. She knocked him constantly against the other men in the moving vehicle, punching him square in the jaw, even if hurting her own wrists in the process. She was teasing. He was angry. And every move she made, made him angrier. Like gasoline fueling the fire. But in this case it was water fueling water, pushing downstream. With every move she made towards him he would try his hardest to dodge but it was like she would predict where his body would move, giving him less wiggle room than he had in 7 by 50 foot semi with another six foot two behemoth fighting a five foot nine beside him. He pushed her, adjacent from him, and into the wall between two soldiers who scooted to the side quickly, giving him enough room to gain an advantage. He grabs her by the throat, pushing her farther up the wall but instead of cowering in fear or begging him to let him go, she smiles.

And he realizes too late that their turning into a wide turn, sending the truck to the right and he falls off of her and her onto him but she does it so gracefully, grabbing the bar above head and slowly descending upon his hips. The moment pauses in his mind, slows down as his eyes take her gracefulness in. She slides in on top of him, leg over each side of his thighs, and it's so beautiful for a brief moment as the dark moon shines on her at her the right angle. Her green eyes glimmer in the dim light and her red hair is like a dark halo surrounding her. His head unconsciously tilts, his eyes drinking her like a man thirsty for water. And his eyes take in as much as it can in the small amount of time given. She's so sinfully beautiful. The world had seemed dull to him now for her beauty outshined all of it. And when their eyes met for the briefest of moments, they both knew for a fact that they would be the death of each other. But she wanted to get a head start on him.

When the truck had righted itself, she head-butted him. He shot up from his position, his head still hazy from the blow before shoving her against the wall with the brunt of his body forcing her against it. It hurt her, he could tell by the ignorant roll of her eyes. And just to alleviate the pain with a little bit of pleasure, she grinded down on his abdomen.

"Stuck between a rock and a hard place. . .As the Americans say," It came out raspy but husky, the intent of seductively distracting him lacing her tongue with a purr he didn't know that would send him into a brief moment of euphoria. The moment of distraction would have provided her an adequate amount of time to spin his body and wrap her small but strong arms around his neck. But no, his reaction wasn't the same as other men. His eyes dilated before hardening.

"Too bad for you, ma'am," He grunted with a smile, blood coating his pearly white teeth, as the voice of a Brooklyn boy flowed through her ears," I already got a gal."

He forced the palm of his hand to the side of her ribs, her legs which were tightly wrapped around him fell to a standing position. He victoriously ducked a punch after her speedy recovery, but said punch landed on Thor's face. Thor turned to her but giving enough time for his opponent to strike him as well. Steve, who had taken to the floor, swept his feet underneath the blonde causing her to fall back. She leaned into though, allowing her to easily get back up. Raising her leg, she high kicked Thor directly in the face, sending him down and falling over Steve. Said Captain was desperately trying to rise but the red head began to slow him down with an onslaught of elbows to his back. He, in response, sends pulled punches to her ribs. She bends over him, hit after hit after hit and then she feels a strong pair of hands grip her thighs before swinging her to the floor, about ten feet away.

"Cap'n!" Someone shouts before tossing him his faded and weary shield just in time for her to produce the Marksman pistol from earlier before shooting. He stands strong against the bullets, his shield deflecting them as easily and he can feel it, feel it in his bones as if his skin is deflecting them. Then, he hears the empty click of an empty gun. She tosses it to the side and he does the same with his shield before setting his feet into the floor, putting all the force necessary into the back of his thighs. She knows what he's doing before he takes off in her direction with the force of a bull and the speed of a cheetah. His arms wrap around her hips as he shoved her through the doors of the truck, the chain breaking the lock free. The truck stops immediately beneath his feet, propelling him forward harder than before and sending them both through the double doors at the end of the truck, him on top and clutching her while she switches their positions, tucking her head under his and swinging them until she's on top. He realizes last minute what she's done and prepares his body to hit the wet, muddy, ground.

And as soon as it does, guns train on his head.

"Stay down, soldier," She says through grit teeth, blood on the corner of her plump lips and her now wet hair falling uselessly in front of her, covering her face. The halo from earlier was gone, replaced with blood stained curtains. Her ledger was full and was over-flowing.

He grounded his teeth when he saw Thor thrown out of the back of the truck, mud practically splattering across his face from the action. The blonde, stared down victoriously at her conquest, hopping down from the back of the truck and nodding at the agents surrounding them. Steve takes notice of them as well, they are wearing all black combat gear, nothing compared to the skin-tight clothing the blonde and red head were wearing but workable. And what he also noticed was that all of them were women. Women soldiers? Where the fuck was he?

Interrupting his thoughts, a man emerged from the sea of women, parting them like Moses parting the Red Sea.

"Hello, gentleman, I see you have met Mrs. Romanov and Mrs. Belova," He said, Russian accent but English dialect in full sway. He was old, about early to late fifties, brown hair peppered with gray. His eyes, which seemed like they had seen all kinds of madness, were a dull brown. And his face, his face was hardened like a carved stone, like he had seen Hell, come back from it, and decided to make his own. He looked like the kind of man you wouldn't bother, the one in a corner with gun on the table and Vodka in his hand. He looked like he had met the Devil and simply said walked off with a scoff, disappointment on his face. He just looked like the guy that you wouldn't want to fuck with. He was built like a bull, broad shoulders, strong arms, firm look, good thighs, and an intimidating posture. "My name is Ivan Petrovitch. . .Welcome to the Red Room."

 **Anybody actually want this to continue? Cause shit, I was just bored.**


End file.
